After the funeral
we shall go out
to see
the man riding the
bullock-cart,

the wheels clattering
over the road
we took on our way
to where we have been,

the chocolate bars on
windows of confectioneries
and children with
longing looks
who don’t know the place
from where we return,

the flowers dangling
on long stalks
from crevices
in the walls of
cheerful houses,
wondering
where they come from
and why they dangle
from crevices
in so many colours.